


The Siren

by TruebornAlpha



Series: The Christmas Caper [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, Detective Stiles, EVERYONE'S HUMAN, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mystery, Sciles, Singer Scott, Teen Wolf AU, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days before Christmas 1948, hard-boiled Detective Stiles Stilinski was hired to investigate his nemesis, New York's powerful criminal boss, Theo Raeken. There's only one problem. His employer is Scott McCall, Theo's favorite plaything and well-known singer at Theo's club, The Chimera. It's a risk, but trusting a pretty face might be the only way to bring down a criminal empire...or wind up in a shallow grave. </p><p>Or, that Sciles detective noir story!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Siren

Stiles pulled his collar up against the cold and stepped out into the street. A chilly wind whipped eddies of snow between the cars and he shivered. It was still daylight, but no one could tell under the slate grey sky and the darkness that crept through the alleys. Even the snow couldn’t cover the grime of the city, the pure white quickly melting into dirty slush that soaked through the ends of his pant legs.

The cab let him off in front of The Chimera, the club busy even though it was still early, and threw a couple of bills at the driver. It was a popular spot, Stiles had been here a few times before, though only when he was working a case. He didn’t normally have enough money to be one of the regular clients. Theo Raeken liked to cater to the rich and powerful of the city who had the dough for something better than rotgut whiskey, plying them with enough glitz and glamour to cover the thrill of sleaze that kept them coming back for more.

He reluctantly had to admit that Theo had good taste as he handed his jacket to the coat check girl and stepped into the lavish main dining room of the club. The whole room was dimly lit, gold accents catching the light and sparkling as bright as the waitresses’ tight, gaudy outfits. One young blonde brushed against his arm and he gave her a wink while considering giving her a whole lot more. Maybe he could sweet talk a number or two while he was here, no one said he couldn’t have a little fun while he worked. It was the perks of the job.

He slid into a stool at the bar where he could watch the floor and ordered the cheapest liquor on the menu, nursing the glass as he examined the crowd. It was a who’s who of New York’s underworld rubbing elbows with businessmen and politicians. The wannabe gangsters eager for a bribe or two as the mobsters played for power. They were parasites feeding on each other, getting fat while the rest of the city went to ruin. Stiles couldn’t even blame them. If he was in the same position, he’d be looking out for number one too.

The detective was so busy listing off those in the room that he didn’t notice the lights on the stage came up or when the band struck its first note. It wasn’t until he heard the voice that his attention snapped up to the front of the club and he saw him. Scott commanded the stage, innocent boy with the vulnerable eyes from his office replaced with a seductive siren. He crooned into the microphone, clothes tight across his lithe body as he swayed his hips hypnotically. Stiles downed his drink all at once and coughed at the burn.

Beneath his low tipped brim of his hat, a smoky stare and soft soft lips demanded the room’s attention as Scott cradled his microphone close, showing off how well his pretty mouth looked. His collar was popped, red silk tie hanging undone and framing a clavicle Stiles needed to bite. Scott sounded like Satan must have put him on this Good Earth to teach its people how to sin.

It was flashy and aggressive, temptation wrapped in a challenge around a husky purr. Yet with the last note still hanging in the air, before the dumb lugs in the audience realized they ought to be clapping, Stiles watched Scott’s shoulders slump and his smile flicker under the bright spotlight. Then the applause came, and with it, his stage persona. Stiles sat back, smug. With an act like that, it was no wonder Theo wanted to put his boy on display.

In the middle of the set, the man himself strutted into his club, making his way to a booth with an unobstructed view of the stage, and for the first time since he took the stage, Scott wasn’t the most interesting thing in sight. Like a moth to a flame, the songbird turned to his master, and Stiles thought he ought to teach the boy a thing or two about subtlety. He watched as Scott made his way to his boss’s side, never missing a beat, his smile as sharp as ever. When Theo’s hand started crawling up Scott’s thigh, Stiles decided he was done with storefront surveillance. He was never going to have a better chance. If Scott looked at him like that, he thought he’d be pretty distracted, too.

There was a door tucked into a quiet corner of the floor. If it wasn’t for the ugly sod in front of it, large enough to make Frankenstein’s monster feel small, Stiles would have ignored it completely. Sticking to the shadows, letting Scott do his thing and spending too much time thinking about that thing, the detective crossed the room. He popped a cigarette between his lips and tapped the gorilla on the shoulder to asked, “Hey, brother, got a match?”

Stiles was fixed with a suspicious stare, but he grinned right back, until a little flick of light came up to greet him. Bringing the match to his cigarette, he inhaled deep to savor bitter smoke, and nodded the to the guard - right before tossing ash in his face and punching him in the jaw. One hand went around the guard’s throat, the other opened the door behind him, pushing him in as Stiles choked the air from his lungs. In one swift movement, he dropped the unconscious guard into a corner and welcomed himself to the most exciting corner of The Chimera.  
  
It only took a few tries down the corridor before he hit the jackpot. Raeken’s office was just like the rest of the club, expensive tastes put on display for everyone to see. He liked to flaunt his power, covering up his true intentions in brassy golds and rich dark leathers. Stiles was almost impressed. Maybe he’d gone into the wrong business. Justice was all well and good, but it barely paid the bills. Things would have been a lot different if his talents lay with bullshitting people instead of just pissing them off.

He ran his fingers down the dark mahogany desk, carefully shuffling papers aside as he looked for information that Theo was more than just the ‘upstanding’ club owner. Contracts, correspondence, advertising campaigns. It looked like Theo was planning on expanding his legitimate businesses, as if they needed more of his poison in the city. Stiles paused over one mocked up billboard advertising one of Scott McCall’s upcoming performances. Even in a picture, there was something captivating about the young singer as if his smile alone was enough to test the morality laws. Theo didn’t deserve all his luck.

With a frustrated snarl, he tossed the papers back on Raeken’s desk and turned his attention to rifling through the club owner’s drawers. If Scott had come to him for help, that must mean he’d seen or heard something that made him suspicious. It made sense that Theo conducted some of his less than legal business out of his office, there was proof here somewhere. Just because he might not leave it sitting out in the open didn’t mean there wasn’t something worth finding. Stiles found a snub-nosed revolver in one drawer, already loaded. Did Raeken use this to keep his men in line or had he already dropped bodies with it? He didn’t seem like the kind of man who wasted words on threats.

The bottom most drawer was locked and Stiles rattled the handle, trying to get it to pop open.  _Here we go, this looked much more promising._  He’d been picking locks since he was a kid, all he needed was a few minutes and he’d be able to-, damn! He ducked down behind the desk as he heard the door to the office open, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid being spotted.

“Stiles?”

The detective was getting way too fond of the way Scott said his name.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, but Scott ignored him, moving to crouch by the detective’s side. He’d lost his hat somewhere along the way, rushing off stage as soon as his set was over when he’d spotted the detective in the crowd. This close, Stiles could feel Scott’s warmth through his clothes, see the speckle of glitter across his skin. If he was just a whisper closer, Stiles thought he could taste his sweat. He was the sort of thing poets dreamed could inspire them. It was a shame he had a habit of showing up where he didn’t belong.

“I didn’t hire you to be my warden, Stiles.”

“You hired me to keep you safe.”

Scott sent him a pointed look, before trying the drawer Stiles had seconds ago. Again, it didn’t budge. He reached for the clip that clung to the loose end of his tie. “Then the faster we get this desk open, the faster we get out of here.”

It was Stiles’s turn to send him funny looks, but Scott just shrugged. “It’s the only one he’s got locked. I need you to stand guard. I don’t have much time.”

“Look, sweetheart. I got this. Save your singing for the stage.” Stiles countered, reaching for his kit and a jagged skeleton key as his client fussed with the lock. Before he could slip it out of its holder, Scott was pulling open the drawer, his eyes pinched with excitement, a dark blush high on his darling face and the most attractive smug expression Stiles had ever seen. The detective couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch him or kiss him.

“You’ve never worked in a garage, detective? You learn a whole lot.”

A garage? Is that where Scott learned how to get his hands dirty? Stiles had a hard time picturing the handsome singer covered in grease and rolled under some car.

They both jumped as someone knocked on the door and Scott froze, terror in his eyes. Scott had gone to him for help and now they was going to be caught without an excuse in the belly of the beast. Stiles knew he only had one chance to sell the lie or it was curtains for them both. He shoved the singer up against the wall with his hands gripped tightly around Scott’s wrists, leering in close as the door swung open. Understanding sparked in deep brown eyes, sly and quick before disappearing in faux shock. He squirmed under Stiles’s hands, trying to wriggle himself free.

“Let me go! You’re not supposed to be back here.”

“C’mon, baby.” Stiles slurred like he was four drinks in and pressed in closer. “Juss wanted ta give my appreciation fer your music in person.”

“Help!” Scott gasped out to the two men who stared in surprise at catching Theo’s prized pet being attacked. With a snarl, one of them grabbed Stiles and yanked him back, punching him hard enough to make him stumble. The goons took turns kicking Stiles in the ribs and only stopped once they made sure the intruder stayed down.

“You okay, Mr. McCall?”

“Y-yes. I’m fine.” He was the innocent again, the caged little songbird with the fragile smile who played with men like toys. Stiles groaned and looked up, impressed at Scott’s quick change despite of the pain, and there was a lot of pain. “Thank you so much, I don’t know how he got back here. You need to get him out of here.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. McCall. We’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you ever again.”

“He’s just a nobody, he’s not worth the effort. Just get him out before Theo finds out some drunk managed to wander back here without anyone stopping him.” The tone were sweet, but there was a warning in the words and Stiles had to shake his head. Sweet and vicious to be threatening the guards so skillfully for their silence.

Another quick rap on his skull sent his brains rolling so fast, Stiles wasn’t sure who was doing the shaking. Scott didn’t even flinch at the sound, slowly rubbing his wrists and as the detective was dragged away.

“Can I get a drink?” Scott whispered then cleared his throat, stumbling over his own feet before falling a little too heavily into Theo’s chair, despite how he forced his jaw to tighten like he was trying to fight back a fainting spell. The closest guard had about half a foot on him and was twice as thick. It had the desired effect. “Just need to catch my breath before the next set.”

The guard was eager to please. He made his trip as fast as possible, but when he returned, Scott was exactly where he left him, slumped in their boss’s chair with a shell-shocked look on his face. The singer downed his drink easy and dragged his feet back to the stage so slowly, but once on, put on a big smile for the crowd, sang two more songs, and got a wolf whistle for his trouble. It was easy when he was confident that everything on Theo’s desk was exactly how he’d found it except for the slip of paper in his pocket.

“You always put on a good show.”

His voice echoed through Scott’s private changing room with a calm that the singer knew by now was more ominous than his screams. In his vanity mirror, framed by the light of a dozen bulbs, as terrifying as any angel but as dangerous as one that had lost its wings. Theodore Raeken still had the friendliest smiles of anyone he’d ever met. It was a pity Scott knew him so well.

“Only when you’re watching.”

Scott whirled around in his chair, inwardly cursing himself for taking so long to leave. Theo brushed his hair back for him and cupped his cheek, strong fingers warm against his flushed skin, and Scott kissed the inside of his wrist. It wasn’t enough to stop Theo from wrapping his grip around his throat, loose for now, but they both knew it didn’t have to be. “Then it’s a good thing I’m always watching.”

“Of course it is.” Scott stood, unfazed, and pressed his body against the other man’s. Theo’s eyes darkened with want, wickedly pleased. Despite everything, it still thrilled Scott. Tonight, he knew Theo was going to be good to him. “I like it when you watch.”

 

 

Stiles slowly peeled himself off the grimy asphalt and spat blood on the filthy snow. The goons from the club watched from slowly sway up to his feet from the back door to The Chimera and Stiles gave him a fingered salute as he readjusted his crumpled hat. Well, that was a total loss. He was losing his touch if he could get caught that easily and Scott’s willingness to play along was worrying. It wasn’t that he was clever, it was how quickly he picked it up and how well he could switch on the innocent eyes and wrap Theo’s guards around his finger. Stiles was grateful he still had all his teeth, but he had to wonder.  _What kind of sweet kid knew how to pick locks so quickly?_

The detective hunched his shoulders and staggered out into the street, playing the role of down and out drunk until he was around the corner. Theo was hiding something and he hadn’t had time to grab it. There had to be a way back inside The Chimera, he had to get his hands on whatever it was that was in that drawer.

He shoved his hands into his coat and paused, pulling out a slim business card he didn’t recognize that had been slipped into his pocket without him noticing.  _Scott McCall, Entertainer_. The words were written in shiny gold looped across the white cardstock. On the back, an address was scribbled in ink and Stiles popped his collar with a muffled chuckle. Always another surprise with this boy. Alright, he’d bite.

The address lead to a swanky spot downtown, where people tipped their doorman, and beggars were shooed away by police batons even if every Salvation Army Santa nursed a full pot. If his down-payment hadn’t been enough to convince Stiles before, he was convinced Scott was well-kept now.

The detective snuck in with a large group, keeping his head down and hat low to hide the worst of the damage. Scott was all the way up on the fifteenth floor. It wasn’t the penthouse suite, but only just. Stiles could show Scott he wasn’t the only one who could pick a lock.

When he first entered the room, Stiles was almost convinced he’d walked back into The Chimera. The singer’s home twinkled as bright as Hollywood, decked out in expensive silks, unpronounceable art and jewels that glimmered. Theo liked his prizes in one place.

Scott had invited a snoop into his home. He must have known Stiles would do what he did best. The kitchen was nice, but Stiles paid more attention to his fully-stocked liquor cabinet. In the study, there was an old, worn picture of an older woman with Scott’s warm eyes and easy smile, dog-eared in the right corner and so unlike the ornate frame that held it. It looked like the only personal touch in the entire flat, and sat right above a drawer that held a handgun not unlike the one Theo kept in his office. It still had a full clip of bullets. Stiles wondered if it had ever been fired before. Aside from the bedroom, the study was the only spot that looked like it had been lived in at all, but the mirror on the ceiling was a nice touch. He put everything he’d touched back where it belonged before taking a seat. All that was left was to wait.

Scott let himself into the apartment eventually, muscle memory carrying him all the way to his bedroom even in the dark. He threw himself into bed with a bone-deep sigh, but when Stiles flicked the lights on, that was when he saw it. Not the stunned fear of a trapped man, but a wolf’s rage, poised to strike. It was gone in a blink. “Stiles! You startled me.”

“You can drop the act, McCall. You’re better than that.”

Scott ignored the insinuation and leaned across the bed, all smiles. “When I gave you my address, Detective Stilinski, I thought you’d have at least waited until a respectable time of day.”

“You’ll find I’m not the most respectable man in the city, doll.”

The singer laughed and got to knees on the bed in front of Stiles, back in control again. Expensive silk sheets bunched around his legs as he moved closer to run his hands down the lapels of Stiles’s suit jacket. He smoothed non-existent wrinkles between his fingers and subtly pulled the other man close enough to feel the heat from his skin, stoking Stiles’s urge to grab as easily as any fire. Scott ghosted his lips over the pulse in Stiles’s neck and the detective couldn’t stop the shiver that raced down his spine. “I’m not looking for a respectable man.”

“Does this act work on people?”

Scott sat back with a surprised laugh, genuinely amused. “Always does.”

“I can see why.” Stiles maintained his composure, but barely. Scott looked debauched, expensive clothes rumpled and skin still glistening with glitter and sweat. He was the nymph away from the lights and the stage, a second hand god and imperfectly beautiful on his bed with that sinful mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “We need to talk a little business first.”

“Business? Seems like I’ve been paying you to save your ass. I hired you for your discretion, detective. Getting caught in my boss’s office and having to bail you out wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Stiles touched his bruised jaw with a rueful smile. “Seems like you enjoyed it.”

The songbird traced his fingers down the emerging bruise, scratching along the stubble before slapping him lightly. “A few bruises are better than the alternative. Theo doesn’t play games when I’m involved. He’s very protective of me.”

“That’s the first truthful thing I think you’ve said to me.”

“Are you always this paranoid, detective?”

“With the company I keep, it’s the best thing to be.” Stiles replied pointedly. “Case in point.”

“If you’re going to start threatening me, could you get to it? If not, I need a drink.” Scott scoffed, voice dripping with amusement. He got to his feet and moved to the opposite of the room where he tipped open a decorative globe to get to a bottle of aged whiskey. He kept his back to the detective, giving himself a little longer to pick himself back together. A mask was only a good disguise if he could fully commit to it. He could still feel the weight of Theo’s body against him, the way his hands wandered as he whispered his regret at not being able to properly congratulate Scott on a job well done. He heard Stiles make his way over behind him. Before the detective could get it in his pretty little head to try the same thing, Scott turned on his heel to face him, offering Stiles both glasses to fill the space between them.

Stiles ignored them. “I can’t believe anything you say if you won’t be straight with me. I don’t know you. I can’t trust you, and I don’t wanna be around when you pull out another face.”

“I never lied to you.” Scott scowled. “Maybe I thought no one would help the roundheels whore leeching off of Theo Raeken, but you wanted to play a hero, and you saw what you wanted to see, but everything I said was real.” His brows furrowed, and Scott’s shoulders tensed, defensive like he hadn’t been before. If there was anything honest about him, Stiles thought it was Scott’s stubbornness.

“Look, Stiles, I know what people say about Theo. I’m not deaf, but he’s not that kind of guy. He’s a business man, not a, not a…”  _A murderer._ Scott swallowed thickly, but fixed him with a stern stare, his hand shaking enough to disturb the amber in his glass. That shine Stiles had seen when they first met, the one he thought was painfully naive, it came back now. Haggard and beaten down but still fighting through, and Stiles wanted to gather Scott into his arms and debauch him. “And if he is, I’ll go to the police myself.”

Stiles leaned in closer, crowding into the other man’s space. Scott didn’t shy away, calling his bluff with a clenched jaw, but all the detective did was pluck a glass out of Scott’s hand and down his drink.

“How did a pretty thing like you end up with Raeken in the first place?”

“I didn’t hire you to poke into my business, detective. I hired you to find out if my boss was killing people and to make sure I didn’t get hurt in the process.” Scott said coolly as he sat back in a chair and took a long swallow of his drink. He looked strangely out of place here among the expensive furniture and glittering gold. Or rather, he looked more like just another ornamental piece instead of the man who owned it. He watched Stiles carefully as a loaded gun, one weapon recognizing another. Just because it could be a useful tool didn’t mean it couldn’t be turned against you if you were careless.

“What if your business is his business?” Stiles leaned on the edge of a bookshelf and tried to goad his employer into revealing something else.

“My business shouldn’t have to be doing your job or I’ll just decide to withhold your fee. At this point, I might be able to do a better job.” Scott set his drink aside and pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket. “I copied this down from Theo’s desk drawer when you got your ass hauled out and roughed up. I don’t know what it means, it just looks like a bunch of random numbers to me. What I do know is that something big is going on. I heard one of Theo’s men talking about a package and Theo was very interested in making sure it arrived without any trouble.”

Stiles took the slip of paper and studied the numbers with a frown. “And you have no idea what this could mean?”

“Like I said, Mr. Stilinski, I can’t do everything for you.” The singer poured himself a new drink and downed it to let let the burn settle him, dulling his nerves until he couldn’t feel anything at all. Hope was a dangerous thing, the most dangerous. A man could string himself up on hope if he wasn’t smart enough to let go. Scott had thought he’d learned that lesson years ago, but it flickered to life at all the wrong moments. This was a deadly game they played and this shabby, booze soaked flatfoot played a bigger role than he knew. There’d be time for guilt later, right now he needed some sharp edged charm.

He sent another surreptitious glance at the gum shoe. Stiles was not so subtly fuming, his face scrunched up. It only made his blackened eye look worse. Scott wondered how they could both survive when they were in so far over their heads, but it was too late for him to back up now. It was too late to let go of Stiles. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Where are you going now?”

“Ease up, detective. I’m just getting you something for your face.”

“Why sweetheart, I didn’t know you cared.” Stiles still watched his unwilling host go. This was a set up. It had to be. Every time his client sang, Stiles ended up with more questions than answers. He didn’t know what stakes he was playing for, but he knew this case was turning out just as juicy as he’d expected it to be the moment he heard Theo Raeken’s name. If he was smart, he’d walk away. It was a good thing Stiles was closer to drunk at the moment.

Scott came back with ice from the cooler, wrapped in wet towels and shooed Stiles into a couch. He pressed the ice against his eye, as he smeared cream on his bruise with the certainty of someone who’d had a lot of practice.

“I got it.” Stiles didn’t have much to his name except pride and he huffed as he took the towel from Scott’s hand. The singer shrugged and sat down on a chair beside him to watch the detective doctor himself.

“Suit yourself, I’m just trying to help.”

“Getting help from you is like getting a kick to the face, doll. In fact, it’s _exactly_ that.” Stiles said sarcastically. “Why don’t you just be straight with me and tell me what the hell I’m doing here. Since when does a pretty little bird like you know how to pick locks and what are you really doing with slime like Raeken.”

Scott couldn’t quite manage to hide his irritation. It was his own fault for hiring a private detective, of course Stilinski would be annoying and trying to pry into everyone’s business. “I told you everything you need to know. I care about Theo and the thought that he could do something so terrible…look, I know he can get a little violent when he’s mad, but he’s not a killer. I just need to know the truth about things. If I could find out on my own, I wouldn’t need to hire you, but he likes to make sure his people keep an eye on me so I don’t have time to poke around myself.”

The way he spoke, Scott had no idea who Theo really was, and Stiles didn’t know if he wanted to pity him or mock him. Then that sly smile came back, infuriatingly coy and utterly distracting, and Stiles stopped thinking with his right head. “Besides I can do a lot of things you don’t know about, Detective.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you can.”

With another heartrending smile, the singer leaned closer and put a warm hand on Stiles’s knee. The dark brown eyes were wicked and beautiful and Stiles found himself drawn closer until they were only a few inches apart. It would be easy to lean forward and catch that unruly mouth, maybe teach Scott a few lessons on earthly sin. “It’s already late, Stiles.” Scott purred, using his name with an intimacy that stole the detective’s breath. “And you’re hurt. If you have a concussion, it might not be safe for you to spend the night alone.”

“No?”

“Mmmhmmm. I think I might have to insist you stay here.” The hand slid upwards, Scott breath playing over his skin. Stiles let out a stuttering breath, and the place Scott touched felt lava hot. “On the couch. And I want you gone before morning.” He pulled away laughing and Stiles nearly bit off his tongue. He breezily considered jacking off on Scott’s couch for revenge but figured that wouldn’t get him paid.

He was shooed from the bedroom and dragged himself to the couch, with a ton of ice and Scott’s first aid kit. Stiles had every intention of dealing with his hurt face, but Scott’s cushions were made from actual clouds. Between one moment and the next, he’d drifted off. The detective wasn’t even sure he’d managed to lie down. He only realized he’d fallen asleep when the sound of a creaking door jostled him awake, and Stiles came face to face with Scott in a pair of striped cotton pajamas, pillow creases on his face, and his hair in thirteen different directions.

They stared blearily at each other, until Scott mixed things up and squinted extra hard at his guest. He could yell at Stiles to leave, maybe, but his mouth tasted like ass, and Scott wasn’t really looking forward to listening to himself speak more than absolutely necessary. He was already forcing out four more words than he entirely wanted to.

“Do you like pancakes?”

Stiles frowned as hard as he could muster, but most of both of his eyes were glued shut with sleep boogers. His face throbbed. The ice hadn’t helped much, and that probably explained the wet spot on his shirt, huh. Slowly, he nodded, wary of any traps waiting to be sprung. It was kind of disappointing. Scott grunted at him and walked away.

Scott had to sweet talk the concierge to walk across the street to buy him two businessman breakfasts with extra pancakes, and by the time it arrived, he was ready to go back to sleep. Too bad he couldn’t, with Stiles watching him like a (sleepy and confused) hawk.

The singer set the plates down on the table and wrapped himself around a hot cup of coffee until he felt more human. Mornings weren’t usually so rough, but with his frayed nerves, it was difficult to sleep and worries crowded in every time he closed his eyes. Having the detective sleep on his couch wasn’t much help, though he had been rather surprised to see that Stiles was still there. He could still kick him out, he probably should before anyone noticed. If Theo ever found out that another man had spent the night in his apartment, there’d be hell to pay, but Scott was too tired to be that cruel. If Stiles didn’t want to accept any more of his help, that was on him.

“You should eat something.” Scott said once he found his voice again. “You look like you could use it.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be suspicious of the gift, but hot pancakes and fresh coffee was a godsend and he couldn’t remember the last time breakfast didn’t include just a stale cup of coffee spiked with something to take the edge off. “Thanks.” He croaked, scrubbing his hands across his tender face and reaching for the mug. “I’ll get going in a minute.”

“At least stay for breakfast. You’ve sort of made yourself at home, it’s the least I could do.  We just probably shouldn’t make it a habit.”

“Why, next time you want me in your bed instead of on your couch?”

Scott stared in outrage for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Yeah, okay. I deserve that, Detective. You’re just so grim all the time, I want to see if I can get a rise out of you.”

“A rise?  _Really_?” Stiles wheedled, and Scott laughed so hard he snorted. It warmed Stiles down to his toes, and before he could figure out exactly why it was a bad idea, he was filing away the memory of how Scott’s eyes crinkled in the corners for later.

“Don’t worry, Stiles. Your virtue is safe with me.” Scott teased, scrunching up his face. Stiles had to wonder if he knew how attractive he was all over again. For once, their silence was amicable. It didn’t last long.

“Are you really putting ketchup on your eggs? What is wrong with you?”

Stiles was all mock-outrage and horror, and Scott hunched protectively over his plate, dumping the entire tomato-y contents of a tiny bowl over half of his plate. That smile was out again, the one that showed off his dimples and the tips of pearly whites. The detective may have started keeping count of how many times he could get it to come out.

“So what you’re saying is if there was an accident, a ketchup accident, all over your plate, you’d just… Have to leave them alone?” Scott asked, with wide-eyed innocence Stiles didn’t believe for a second. Scott held the little ketchup dish like a weapon, dangling it over Stiles’s plate before pouring the rest on his own eggs. “You’re kind of a barbarian with no taste, ketchup makes everything taste better.”

“ _I’m_  the barbarian? You’re the one who’s ruining perfectly good food. Who does that?”

“I’m sorry you’re so wrong all of the time.” Scott mmmm’d loudly and took a big bite of his eggs as Stiles faked a gag. He reached over and poked the detective with his foot, smothering a grin. This was dangerous, he couldn’t do this. Stiles had to do a job and getting distracted wasn’t part of the plan. “I should get ready to go to the club, I’ve got rehearsals and all kinds of things to do before tonight’s show. You need to figure out what those numbers mean. Be a detective right?”

For the first time in months, there was somewhere else Stiles would rather be than on the street unraveling a case. There was something intensely satisfying about being the one smart enough to bring down idiot criminals, he loved the challenge and the chase. Nothing else could get his heart racing quite the same way, but Scott’s smile came close. “I’m always a detective, baby.”

“Well, make sure you detect yourself out of my apartment. You’ll probably want to wait until I’m gone, that way none of Theo’s people will see you leave. The swelling in your face is just starting to go down, we wouldn’t want to ruin your assets. You’ve got so few.”

“You need to see them up close and personal-like. I can change your mind.” Stiles dared, feeling his grin sharpen.

Scott paused, so briefly Stiles wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking. Easy camaraderie was gone in an instant. The next time he looked at him, it felt like someone had dimmed the light behind Scott’s smile.

“Maybe if you do your job right, detective.” 

His tone never faltered. Scott had a long history of people preferring the costumes he juggled to the truth. He just had to remind himself what Detective Stilinski was interested in.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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